


For Thy Soul

by Gaqalesqua



Series: Elder Scrolls Kink Meme Fills [26]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal, Biting, Bondage, Community: skyrimkinkmeme, Daedra, Dom/sub, Dunmer - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Femdom, Genderswap, Group Sex, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Skyrim Kink, Skyrim Kink Meme, Smut, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, handjob, sanguine becomes a girl
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 17:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5173424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaqalesqua/pseuds/Gaqalesqua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sadril Deleval is a devout worshipper of the Daedra, all of whom want a piece of his soul when he dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boethiah

Sadril Delavel did not expect to wake from death with a sword in his hand.

Well, maybe he should have pre-empted it a little. Selling your soul to 14 of the 16 Daedric Princes came under ‘ideas to expect combat from’. In this case, it was a fine, golden katana, balanced beautifully in his hands. He didn’t have to look to see that he was clad in the Ebony mail. So, it seemed that he was in Boethiah’s realm first. Honestly, he would have preferred a little respite – he’d just died in battle, after all – before the Daedric Prince shoved him into another scuffle. He was in some kind of cage, a thundery sky overhead, and as he stood, waiting for the door to open, a voice wafted into his ears.

“Sadril Delavel, you consigned your soul to me when you accepted my Mail,” Boethiah stated. “And now you and my other champions will fight. It is the will of Boethiah. Do you have the will to survive?”

“What happens if I fail?” the Dunmer asked bluntly.

“Nothingness,” the Daedra replied. “Your soul will be destroyed.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Sadril mumbled. “Then yes, I have the will.”

“Battle is a blessing,” Boethiah reminded him, and the cage door swung open.

Sadril stepped out onto a raised platform of tarnished red metal, a ramp directly in front of him that led down to a sandy circle with high metal walls all around it. You jumped in via a five foot drop and you didn’t get out again without help. He shuddered. He hated enclosed spaces like that one down there. Gods, was Boethiah going to send him down there first? He looked around to see that around him were nine others, one of each of the ten sentient races of Tamriel. He swallowed. Boethiah had an almost sick idea of a contest. There was a Breton girl not far off who looked far too young and frail to be here. A Nord woman stood opposite him, clad in heavy Imperial armour with red warpaint smeared across her face. At her side was a deadly, scratched and notched ebony war axe. She stared through him like she intended to kill him violently. Dunmer and Nords had never seemed to get along and her gaze spoke of the desire to continue that feud. Next to her, a proud-looking Orc stood regally in polished green Orsimer armour. A large Orc warhammer was strapped to his back and he was eyeing Sadril like he wasn’t sure the Dunmer was truly a threat.

To the right of the Orc was an Imperial woman in glass armour, wielding two glowing glass daggers, a splash of green warpaint over her eyes. Directly next to Sadril himself, on his left, was an Argonian lass in a hefty Dwarven getup, armed with a solid Dwarven mace. Between the Argonian and the Imperial stood a bored-looking Bosmer man, wearing leather with an elven bow on his back and full quiver of elven arrows. He didn’t seem to be looking at anyone. On Sadril’s right was a Khajiit woman, wearing robes and steel boots and gauntlets. There was a Dwarven crossbow on her back, and like the Bosmer her quiver was full of short, deadly bolts. Next to the Khajiit was a haughty Altmer man in robes and elven boots and gauntlets, several staves in his back. He looked right through everyone. There were several burns on his face and he seemed trying to conceal them. Of course. Typical Altmer supremacy. Next to the Altmer was the frail Breton mage, her boots and gauntlets leather, accompanied by a set of Master robes. So, not really one to be trifled with. And finally, on the Nord’s left was a Redguard, in full Dragonscale with a scimitar at his hip. He didn’t move an inch.

“Sadril Delavel, I command you to face Arya Snow-Cap.”

The Nord woman stepped forward, The way she picked the axe up from her belt spoke of years of experience. He hefted his sword – it was Goldbrand, it must be. Arya Snow-Cap looked at him determinedly. This wasn’t just death, this was the threat of total destruction. There was no peaceful sleep at the end of this fight. Sadril headed down the ramp with a rising pulse, his feet clanking on the metal until he could hear them padding over sand.

“Death is an inevitability,” Boethiah boomed. “Now, FIGHT!”

Arya charged first and Sadril jumped out of her way. He summoned the air to breathe and a Shout stormed its way out of his lungs, slamming Snow-Cap against the opposite wall with a cry of pain. Arya growled as she quickly got up, raising her axe to slice it down on Sadril’s spot. The Dunmer realised with a growing sense of power that in Boethiah’s realm there was no need to wait before he Shouted again. He bawled out Elemental Fury and watched Arya’s face quickly turn from angry to terrified as the Dunmer’s lightning-fast strikes got past every defence she tried to make. Raising her axe once more, the Nord charged with all her strength. Goldbrand took her out before she knew it, and the screaming Nord disappeared into nothing.

“So ends my Nord Champion. Admet, I command you to face Sadril Delavel.”

The Redguard headed down the ramp and into the sandy ring, his hand on the hilt of his scimitar. He stood opposite the Dunmer and drew it, planting his feet firmly in the ground, knees ready to spring. Sadril watched him. Admet was now wary of the Mer’s Shouts. He doubted he could take him out the same way he’d defeated Arya.

“Know that you are dust in the eyes of Boethiah. Now, FIGHT!”

Sure enough, as Sadril loosed the Unrelenting Force from his mouth Admet vanished to his right, unaffected by the Dragon magic and bearing down on him quickly. The Dunmer quickly used Disarm and the scimitar flew out of the Redguard’s hand, and before the man could do anything, Sadril had used Drain Vitality and Marked For Death. Staggering back, Admet was encased in Sadril’s Ice Form Shout, and, helpless to fight back, the Reguard managed to scream as Sadril unleashed an almighty Fire Breath. Admet disappeared to find Arya’s soul in the nothingness.

By now Boethiah’s other champions were starting to look shifty and nervous, particularly the frail looking Breton, whom Sadril realised was his next opponent. He had killed a fair number of Bretons in his time but to kill one that looked so convincingly like a kicked puppy was just cruel. Nobody in the arena looked particularly thrilled as they eyed up the Orc. Each was wondering who would be able to match his strength now that Arya had gone. Perhaps each would prefer to die by Sadril’s blade than face him. The Breton kept fiddling with her fingers, a nervous tic that Sadril would soon, sadly get rid of.

“So ends my Redguard Champion. Avril Moranne, I command you to face Sadril Delavel.”

Avril nervously toed down the ramp, flames flickering weakly in her fingers. Flames? Sadril wanted to snort. The poor girl. His skin would break up the fire long before it hurt him.

“Look upon the face of Boethiah and wonder. Now, FIGHT!”

And as Boethiah spoke, Sadril saw a flicker of something curling and writhing behind Avril. When the fighting started, that momentary distraction was enough to give the Breton an edge. Steel entered her weak eyes, and a Silence spell hit him before he could open his mouth. Choked, Sadril coughed and levelled his sword but she was on the offensive, throwing ice spells at him with all her might. His joints seemed to freeze and he tried to summon Ancestor’s Wrath, but every bolt of frozen magic she tossed at him dampened his fire, sticking him into place the way he had with Admet. The writhing distraction loomed behind Avril again, and before she struck, an Icy Spear in her palm, darkness closed over him, and he knew no more. 


	2. Hermaeus Mora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermaeus Mora spends time with his champion.

He woke to the sound of rustling books, cold but not frozen, and certainly not vanished into nothingness. Above him in the acid green skies of Apocrypha, ruined pages fluttered and flew, and books shot overhead. He sat up slowly, wincing in pain and rubbing his head. So, it looked like Hermaeus Mora wanted a piece of his soul too. He hadn’t been back to Apocrypha in some time. He wondered how bad the frostbite and ice burns were, and then he remembered that he was an immortal soul. No damage any more. Perhaps that wasn’t quite the blessing it could have been, but he was still glad not to have to heal himself.

 “SO.”

 Sadril jumped, looking up to see the eyes of Hermaeus Mora watching him calmly. Left alone without the sounds of battle for a few moments, he had become lost in his own thoughts. Mora, clearly, did not wish to see a precious investment killed to slake Boethiah’s bloodlust. The shapes curling behind Avril had been Mora’s appendages breaking through into Boethiah’s realm to fetch him. He must have been unable to get through previously due to Boethiah’s power. When she had been distracted the other Prince had taken advantage and swept Sadril out from under her feet. The Dunmer was half tempted to thank Hermaeus profusely. In fact, he was about to do so when a tendril curled around his leg.

 “M-my Lord Mora, what are you- what are you doing?” he asked, almost feebly. The tendril slid lovingly up his calf, behind his knee and over his thighs. He felt it begin to unbuckle one of the straps connecting a greave plate to his leg. Soon, another wrapped around his other leg, removing his armour piece by piece. Each plate was discarded, thrown into the acidic water. Sadril felt disappointed by their passing. He had earned that mail in combat. It was his by right of victory. Yet Mora thought it worthless.

 “That is…a relic of Boethiah,” Mora explained. “In my realm, it has… _nothing_. Boethiah shall have her artifact back, and I shall _have_ my Champion, Dragonborn.”

 Sadril shivered, whether in fear or something else, as Mora grasped the chain shirt beneath the plates and pulled it from the Dunmer’s body. That left only his cotton trousers, and the Daedra took a perverse amount of time sliding them from Sadril’s legs to reveal the loincloth beneath. Oh by the gods. A tendril slid under the cloth and Sadril moaned as it looped itself around his cock. Within seconds the mer was hard as iron, bucking his hips lightly into the stimulation while Mora squeezed gently on the solid, dark grey length. The tendril shifted, squeezing and rubbing and teasing. A second tentacle rubbed directly across the slit, which was beginning to gently weep cum. Another began to stroke his sack and the Dunmer fell back, groaning. Mora lifted him, putting him waist-deep in a nearby pool. It should have stung, but it didn’t, and something wiggled up his leg, probing his entrance.

 Sadril’s eyes flew open and he tried to pull away, but tentacles shot from the inky pool and secured his arms, binding them behind him as the green appendages surrounded him and began to caress his body intimately. One licked across his lip and he chased after it, suddenly blinded by the tentacle that slid over his eyes. Wet tendrils stroked his neck softly and he shuddered, feeling them caress his rear. The liquid was viscous and oily and made a perfect lubricant. Sadril wondered if the Daedric Prince was sick enough to have thought of that. Oh gods, what had Miraak got up to in his spare time with oil like this constantly on hand? A cheeky pinch to one of his arse cheeks snapped him out of that thought as the Daedra now slowly primed his rear passage with the oil. Mora slid an appendage in inch by agonising each. There was some pain but Sadril like his men the way he liked his women – on top. And so the tendril managed to slide inside his anal cavity. Mora immediately went for the Mer’s prostate and Sadril screamed as sparks flashed behind his eyes.

 Gods, that pleasure was debilitating. He loved it. Yes, he was Dragonborn. He should desire to dominate. To force others to submit. Sometimes he did. But he also prized being tossed down by man, mer or woman and fucked stupid and rubbing his sweet spot was one way to get him incoherent by the end of a sex session. He’d not met enough women willing to touch it but the men in his life had shown no such restrictions. And oh, Divines have mercy on his soul, Mora knew everything. His body had no secrets from the Demon of Knowledge and each calm, measured stroke drove Sadril further to completion, accompanied by passionate cries and pleas for more.

 The tendril round his cock moved faster, jerking him until with a Shout of passion Sadril spilt into the water, his vision going white. He had to admit, that was the first time he’d ever fucked a Daedra while sober, and it was amazing. Panting, he regained his breath as the tentacle slid from his eyes. Mora released his penis and slid from within him, seeming to watch the Dunmer’s red, open mouth inhale and exhale repeatedly. Sadril liked to think he looked good after sex, but he also knew it was likely he looked like a mess too. His cum floated to the surface, a slash of white in the green-black mess. Hermaeus had yet to release his hands, he realised, as he went to try and brush it away.

 “My lord?” he asked weakly.

 “I am not…through with you yet,” the Daedric Prince informed him.

 A tentacle slid up his body to his lips, and Sadril barely had time to understand why before it was gliding into between his jaws. The black oil didn’t taste as bad as he’d originally thought, and certainly it helped as Mora ever so slowly increased the pace at which it took his mouth. He’d been in a similar position to this before, only it had been two Orcs and it hadn’t been nearly as pleasurable as just now. Tentacles started to rub his balls and he gasped in delight, twitching back into hardness as more wrapped around the now erect penis. It felt like a tight, slick hand had grasped his cock and was jacking him off. A tendril slid into his ass again, but it was quickly joined by another, and they began to fuck him, going in opposite directions. He sucked on the tentacle in his mouth, licking it and he could have sworn he heard Hermaeus Mora groan in pleasure somewhere in the background. It twitched, and spurted something into his mouth which tasted strange and made him cough. It kept spewing for a few seconds before it returned to fucking his mouth and throat. He clenched his arse cheeks and squeezed on the appendages in his rear. Both of them sputtered and came, sliding out and Sadril whined at the loss.

 Very, very quickly, a thick, tapered tentacle, big as an Orc cock, rammed itself up his arse and fucked him blind. Sadril’s knees gave out and he nearly collapsed bodily into the pool of oil. Ironically it was only Mora’s tentacles that held him up. A tendril, lithe and wet as a tongue, lapped at the head of his cock and Sadril screamed in pleasure, trembling at the stimulation. Tentacles licked at the sensitive parts of his body, not only the sexual areas but his thighs and stomach. This time, his Shout of orgasm brought down several books. Mora left him, letting him down onto the stonework with the thick appendage still fucking his rear. Somewhere nearby, crickets chirped as they did on a Skyrim night, and Sadril froze – or attempted to as well as he could with a cock fucking him. Crickets? In Apocrypha? As a Seeker approached to tidy up the books, another dragged him out of the pool, the tentacle sliding out of his ass. The smell of the tundra reached his nose, and something darted across his vision.

 “Hircine…you dare to try…challenging ME?” Mora demanded, and then, as Sadril stood, the ground beneath him changed. Soft grasses replaced cold metal and weathered pages. The sky overhead changed from acidic green to aurora-filled navy, and Mora’s roar of anger was cut off by the howling of a wolf. The next thing Sadril knew, he was looking out over plains and forests, and the sound of horns blared nearby.


	3. Hircine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadril joins the hunt.

“Greetings, Hunter,” rasped the voice of Hircine, resplendent in his blue cloth and antler mask, deer hair skin bristling in the warm breeze. “We have been waiting for you.” Sadril felt himself changing, and as he looked down he saw himself growing, shifting into the form of a werewolf. Hircine waved his hand and with a flash and a pop, a young woman appeared. It was only then, as snarling filled the air, that Sadril noticed the other four werewolves flanking Hircine. The woman trembled as the Huntsman raised his hand.

“I will keep this simple. We are hunting. She is the prey. Run, mortal,” he instructed her, and she fled, disappearing into the forests as quickly as she could. “When I lower my hand, you, my wolves, will hunt. Whoever catches her mates her, and will be my favoured until the next Hunt. Wolves, ready yourselves.”

Sadril lowered himself to the ground and took a deep whiff of air. He could smell her clearly, sharp concentration clouded with mindless fear. Confusion, too. He watched the Father of Manbeasts lower his hand, and shot off into the darkness to find his next fuck. Most of Sadril had been pushed into another recess by the wolf’s brain, and now he was running on animal instincts, nose to the ground. He hadn’t used his werewolf form very much, but he had sustained it over long periods of time so he could gain some control over it. He now applied that knowledge to find her, nosing over leaves as he sped past to check for her scent.

A howl behind him distracted him a large russet wolf shot through the bushes, intending to jump him. The wolf’s teeth were heading for Sadril’s throat and the onyx-coloured wolf quickly moved, pouncing on his attacker and knocking him repeatedly. He bared the opponent’s neck and his own teeth flashed down. Quickly, he looked up, smelling once more. He could smell the other three wolves. Two were close, but one scent mingled with the woman’s, and he sped in that direction. He would not allow this other were to take the prize. It was his. Sadril burst through the trees into a small clearing, where a blond wolf was cornering the woman. Sadril leapt and grasped the blond’s neck, but the other wolf was bulkier, and a fighter. The woman shot away back into the foliage and Sadril yelped in anger. The blond shook him off and pounced, punching him with a paw. As it reared its head, Sadril got there first, and closed his jaws around the blond’s neck. He shoved off the other wolf and turned to face the two behind him.

The first was ginger-red, and slender but muscled. Its eyes glowed silver as it circled him. The other was bulky, larger than the blond, with silver fur and golden eyes. The ginger charged at him and Sadril batted him aside, in time for the silver to ram into his side. The Dunmer werewolf howled as the silver bit at him, and swung his head around, ending the silver’s life with his teeth and jumping on the ginger. Satisfied that both were down, Sadril hit the dirt and went hunting for the woman once more. Her trail was blazing fresh and clear, her fear filling the air and causing him sweet satisfaction. He charged towards her, and within a few short turns and moments, saw her desperately running through the trees ahead. He gave chase, his nose twitching as a new scent filled his lungs – the smell of brandy, of sex musk, and the unmistakable aroma of roses. He closed in on the girl, running faster and faster, and leapt, his human arms closing around her as he suddenly landed on a warm pile of bodies, not the cold forest floor.

Fuck, the smell of sex was back. In fact, beneath him lay two very pissed off revellers, an Orc and a Breton woman locked in mutual oral sex. Sadril quickly stood, the woman still in his arms, as an arm with skin darker than his own slung around his neck, and a slurred voice rumbled in his ears.

“Well, well, well, if it ain’t my old drinkin’ buddy, the Dragonborn!” Sanguine cried drunkenly.


	4. Sanguine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sanguine pulls Sadril into his...her?...their...?...Sanguine's realm.

“Sanguine?” Sadril began, confused. “Does everyone want a piece of me?”

“Yyyyup,” the Daedra agreed. “Peryite wants you to arrange his fuck’n potion cupboard and slay some mice or some shit. You ain’t seen anything of what Mephala wants from you, but a guy like you will enjoy it, I promise ya.”

The woman in his arms struggled out, and without thinking Sadril locked her in, growling. She instantly stilled, and he could smell the fear coming from her. Oh, but it was mixed with arousal. She wanted him, despite herself, and in Sanguine’s realm, he was only too happy to oblige her desires. His red tongue trailed up her neck, and she whimpered, her body relaxing a little. Her eyes were fixed on the mass of flesh in front of her, and both of them drank in each moan and cry of pleasure. Sanguine’s hand trailed down his back, and Sadril stiffened as he felt the fingers become more slender and feminine. When he briefly looked at the Daedra, a female was staring back at him, her lips curled lasciviously. Sadril was about to protest – he didn’t mind the male form – but Sanguine shushed him.

“No clue what Molag has for you either,” she purred. “Let’s just say, Mora’s treatment is a trip to the healer’s based on what Molag wants.”

She ran her fingers over his arse, pinching the cheeks and digging her nails in a little. Sadril jumped, letting the woman in his arms go, and she vanished into the throng as Sanguine licked a wet line up his ashen skin, biting gently. She curled her fingers into his hair and massaged the scalp gently, one finger going to his ear. Sadril went straight as a rod as his cock sprung to life, and she filled her hand with him pumping slowly back and forth. “Mmm, Meridia was right about you,” she murmured, her tongue on his ear. “I want you to fuck me, Dragonborn. But first you’re going to cum in this girl’s mouth.”

There was a Redguard girl by his feet, her mouth open, and Sanguine moved his hips forward, pressing him past her lips into the hot, wet orifice. She got to work immediately, her tongue flicking the head and sucking softly at him. He shivered. A finger rubbed at his pucker, and then he found it sliding slowly inside. Mora’s oils were still inside him, and so Sanguine pushed in another digit with no issue. The Daedric Prince mouth softly at his shoulder, rubbing her fingers in and out of him as Sadril tangled his own in the Redguard’s hair. She leaned her palms onto his hips, bobbing her head back and forth over his length, sucking and moaning at regular intervals. This was even better than the sex with Hermaeus – was it sex? Was it just Mora getting him off? Either way, Sanguine was much happier to be hands on, and the fingers massaging his prostate were certainly a delicious addition. Teeth dug into his neck, sharp enough to add the most delicious tinge of pain, and he bucked, gasping. He shoved the girl’s head down onto his cock and dug his fingers into her scalp, fucking her mouth. For her part, the Redguard was enjoying the rough behaviour, clawing gently down his legs to spur him on until with a Shout he came.

His cum spurted down the girl’s throat and she coughed, but she swallowed it all, standing and kissing him deeply. Still erect, he grabbed Sanguine around the waist, pushing to the floor and fondling her breasts. The Daedric Prince of Debauchery protested by Sadril pressed his fingers into her sopping snatch and began to finger her mercilessly. He was half-tempted to use a Shout to get her closer to the edge, pushing her stomach down. He knew she could toss him down if she wanted, but Sanguine had asked him to fuck her, so that was exactly what he was going to do, his fingers slicking in and out of her soaking cunt as she trembled. Did people manhandle her often? An Orc swept up the Redguard girl and pushed her into the orgy, and she disappeared in a mass of sweaty limbs, her cries joining the others. Sanguine meanwhile was squeezing him with her inner muscles, whimpering in delight. His fingers stroked an engorged spot on her walls and the Daedra squirted, her cum coating his hand. He flipped her onto her front and sunk inside her, grasping her hair tightly and thrusting into her without mercy. Sadril’s hands travelled all over her body, rubbing and pinching parts of her as he saw fit. He leaned over her plush rear and felt something warm at his ass. He opened up and a hot length slid into him. The force of two men pushed his dick into Sanguine’s warmth, and he rubbed at her clitoris roughly as she shuddered onto him.

 “Very nice, Dragonborn,” she gasped. 

 He kept going, but the smell in the air had changed. Sulphur drifted in on the breeze, and Sanguine looked up with an angry expression on her face, leaning up on one elbow.

 “Not now, Dagon!” she yelled angrily. Sadril’s heart dropped. Dagon? Of course. The Razor. Fuck. He felt himself drifting out of reality, Sanguine’s realm becoming less and less physical as the Prince of Destruction grasped hold of his soul and began to drag him into the Deadlands.

 As Sadril faded from His realm, Sanguine turned back into a man, muttering furiously.

 “Been looking forward to that since I met the bastard,” he snarled, and stalked into the pile of writhing bodies.


	5. Mehrunes Dagon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadril finds himself in the Deadlands.

Sadril was dumped, naked, next to a boiling pool of lava, and the Dunmer rolled away from it faster than he realised was possible. Dirt caked his skin, and he groaned as his sensitive length scraped across the hard ground. The Dunmer stood, gazing at his surroundings with a sense of utter dread. It was hot – too hot, even for him – and the ground beneath him was blackened and burnt, cracked, and heat rose through the gaps in the land. He conjured himself some armour and a weapon, looking warily around him for any enemies. His eyes fell on a figure, huddled by a pool, and he approached, weapon raised. The figure turned. It was an elf, an Altmer, with blond curls springing from beneath a blood red hood. He’d seen that colour before. And the robes he wore…Silus Vesuius had been displaying them at his house in Dawnstar! This was a fabled member of the Mythic Dawn. Gods, even they didn’t deserve eternity in the Deadlands. This was just too harsh.

“Are you dead too?” the Altmer asked. “Yes, yes you are, I feel it.”

“You’re Mythic Dawn,” Sadril stated. “I almost feel sorry for you.”

“Do not pity me,” the High Elf sighed. “I deserve none of it. I helped burn Kvatch to the ground. I killed countless innocents.

“You’ve had about two hundred years to quite literally stew, in the Deadlands,” Sadril drawled. “I’m not wishing that on anyone. I know about the Mythic Dawn. Morrowind got trampled by Daedra. Stop sobbing. What’s your name, Altmer?”

“Eldamil,” the other elf replied uncertainly. “And you?”

“Sadril.”

“You smell a little…odd,” Eldamil said politely.

“I just got dragged out of Sanguine’s realm,” the Dunmer snorted. “I’m rather angry that happened. I was…busy.”

“Mehrunes Dagon finds you important enough to drag from Sanguine?” Eldamil repeated. “Why on Nirn?”

“I accepted his stupid Razor,” Sadril grumbled.

“That’s not reason enough! You must be some kind of powerful mortal for him to want you,” Eldamil argued.

“I may be the Dragonborn,” Sadril admitted in a small voice, shuffling. Eldamil’s mouth dropped open. 

“That explains much of his desire for your soul,” the Altmer said weakly.

 _“FOOL!”_ a huge voice boomed. _“YOU TOOK MY RAZOR AND WIELDED IT AS YOUR OWN. YOUR SOUL BELONGS TO ME, DRAGONBORN! MAY THE SEPTIMS CRY IN DESPAIR.”_

“Ah, fuck,” Sadril cursed. “Run, Altmer.”

The elves tore across the landscape as the earth beneath their feet began to shake. Dremora burst from the air around them, and Eldamil’s hands flung out, encasing the creatures in ice. Sadril swung a mace at the statues, shattering them, his own hand filled with healing. The Altmer was longer, nimbler than him, but Sadril had the stamina of a warrior, and as red, burning dust rose beneath their feet, the elves managed to keep pace with each other. There was no sense of a race so much as a fleeting hope that they would be able to outrun Dagon for the briefest of seconds.

Eldamil tripped and Sadril caught him, helping the Altmer stand again as Dremora threw open a nearby tower door and roared in anger. Frost magic shot from the High Elf and they kept going. Something caught Sadril’s eye, a beautifully faceted stone that seemed to glow with its own light. He almost stopped, darting over instead to pick it up. Eldamil created a shield around them, as large as he could make it, laced with frost, as Sadril felt a voice boom in his head, as loud as it had come all those years ago when a blood-soaked Dunmer found it hidden in a chest in a bandit lair.

 _“Raise my beacon, Champion of Meridia, and I will save you,”_ it roared.

Sadril raised the beacon high above his head, and the world ripped open next to him, a delicious smell wafting from a glowing hole in Oblivion.

“Hurry!” the voice commanded, and Sadril grabbed Eldamil firmly around the wrist, leaping through the portal before the Altmer could protest.


	6. Meridia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lady of Infinite Energies has pulled the Dragonborn to her realm for one reason.

They fell from sulphurous poison into the soft light of Meridia’s realm. The hole in her world closed, and Sadril stood, pulling Eldamil to his feet. The Lady of Infinite Energies stood before him, clad in a simple hooded robe, wings of white light streaming out from behind her. Her golden eyes stared out from darkened skin, and blonde hair spilled around her shoulders.

“Meridia,” he heard Eldamil breathe.

“You brought a toy of Dagon’s here,” she began. “Why?”

“Pity?” Sadril suggested.

“I see,” Meridia said coolly. “You are in awe, mortal.”

It was a statement, not a question, and Eldamil nodded, his mouth open in wonder. Ah, yes, of course. The ancient Ayleids loved light and made it one of their elements, and Eldamil had no doubt dabbled in Ayleid worship and therefore revered Meridia.

“Tear off that armour of Dagon and release your magical abilities to me. Remove those robes and burn them. Then kneel before me and swear allegiance to my powers. I will always welcome new followers, so long as they do not turn on me as they turned on their previous master,” she announced grandly. Sadril had never seen anyone undress quicker than Eldamil, and the naked Altmer knelt before Meridia. A white glow suffused his body, and when he eventually stood, some of the weariness had gone from him.

“Thank you,” he said softly. Meridia waved her hand.

“Now, leave us,” she commanded, and the Altmer wandered further into her realm as the Daedra Prince turned to Sadril. “As for you, I brought you here for a reason, mortal.”

There was a bed beneath him, and his armour melted away from his body with a twitch of Meridia’s lips. He reached for her robe and she allowed him to take it from her. His mouth went dry at the sight of her gloriously bronzed skin, and the tapered points of her ears framed by glorious golden hair. Her yellow eyes blazed in want as she looked at him, leaning over and kissing him. Energy zipped through his body at the contact and he pressed fiercely back, wrapping an ashen arm around her waist and rolling her onto the bed, which had somehow expanded. Meridia was not a passive lover, nipping at his jaw and seeming to enjoy the little gasps coming from his mouth. Neither was she a submissive one, for she rolled Sadril onto his back and sat on his leg as she leaned over to kiss him, and the Dunmer reached down and began to rub the Daedric Prince with his thumb, causing her to shift away from his leg, hovering so that her cunt was available to him. He slid a finger in as Meridia sent a wave of energy rolling through him, and he arched up, biting down on his lip as it turned into a blast of pleasure.

The Daedra and the mortal moved together, his fingers plunging in and out of her as she rode them with gasps that sounded beautiful and regal. Her slick dripped down his fingers, and he rubbed a wet thumb against her nub as she rolled. Soon, the Daedra pulled away from him, mounting him and riding him energetically, her fingernails digging into his chest. The Dunmer palmed her breasts, touching her with reverence, thrusting his hips upwards. She began to bounce on him, her golden curls flying around her head as the strong Prince used him.

“You have my favour, mortal,” she gasped, arching as he thrust into a good, swollen spot inside her and biting her lip.

 “Thank you, Lady Meridia,” he groaned, grasping her waist with an ashen arm and pulling her closer to him. The Daedra allowed it, and he suckled on her breast as they writhed together, feeling her clenching down on him as he pounded her. Mortal men and women were never able to take him fully, but Meridia could withstand the harsh pace he set – indeed, her gasps, her teeth on his lip, assured him that it was something she was very much enjoying. As her tongue swiped over her lower lip and into his mouth, he found his ear drawn to the sounds of their fucking, wet and dirty and punctuated by their moans and cries. Meridia was hot and tight, and slick too, providing a snug hole for his cock to bottom out into.

It did not take the Lady of Infinite Energies long to cum after Sadril got rough. She scored marks down his arms and chest as she reached her peak, heat and light swirling around her head as she screamed in pleasure. The Dunmer spurted into her, his orgasm so intense that he fell backwards, and Meridia sprawled across him, golden hair tickling his nose.

It was not as odd as the sensation of a wet, rough tongue licking his hand.

“What-?” Sadril murmured blearily, sitting up.

“Clavicus,” Meridia hissed. “No, he’s MINE!”

Sadril cried out in shock as a dog’s mouth clamped around his wrist, managing to avoid biting him, and dragged him off of the bed and away from the protesting Daedric Prince. He found himself falling, and turned to look at the animal in question.

“Barbas?” Sadril asked.

“Good to see you again,” the dog drawled. “Clavicus wants a chat.”


	7. Clavicus Vile

“Dragonborn!” the Daedric Prince of Wishes cried delightedly. “I see you’ve been making good use of my Masque since the day I gave it to you!”

 “Was that sarcasm?” the Dunmer asked.

 “No, no, just a little put out that my Champion refused to wear the all-powerful gift I so kindly gave him! It almost gives me the wrong idea about you…almost.”

 “What do you want from me, Lord Clavicus?” Sadril asked. “I was having quite a nice time just now.”

 “I could see that,” Clavicus replied. “But I still own part of your soul, so I get to call you in whenever I please. I want you to put your clever mouth to use, Dragonborn. Trick some people into making some stupid wishes, and I’ll free you from your debt to me.”

 That was almost certainly a trap in itself, but Sadril really didn’t want to be stuck with Clavicus Vile for the rest of his life when he could be with a Daedra he actually liked. If a few dodgy deals could rid him of the Prince, it was a risk he was happy to take.

 “What do you need then?” he finally asked. Clavicus’ sigh was drawn-out and exhausted, and he waved his hand dismissively at the Dunmer.

 “Barbas will take you to the stupid saps that I want to make deals with. Make it quick, Dragonborn. You’ve already tried my patience by hoarding the Masque.”

 Barbas nosed his hand and Sadril scratched the dog behind the ears, following him away. The landscape they crossed was a mass of swirling grey, confusing Sadril’s head. Only by concentrating on the dog did he even manage to cross it. In parts, it was like stepping in treacle. They finally reached a shimmering door in the air and Sadril and Barbas dropped through it.

 The scene below him was comically odd – a young woman was praying to a shrine, dressed in fine regalia and covered in some kind of liquid. Sadril got a whiff. He gagged. Was that urine?

 “Who are you?” she demanded, as she saw Sadril. “Are you Clavicus Vile?”

 “I…I’m a messenger of his?” he tried. Her eyes narrowed.

 “Truly? I didn’t know he sent Dunmer to do his work.”

 Sadril found his brows furrowing angrily. “Look, I just do what I’m told,” he began. “What were you praying for.”

 “Oh!” She stood, gesturing to her wet self. “My romantic rival had her lackeys pour urine all over me. I want you to send someone to do the same to her.”

 “Right, and what does Lord Vile get out of this?” Sadril asked.

 “I beg your pardon?” she began.

 “It’s a two way street, s’wit,” Sadril pointed out. “You don’t just get Daedric Princes to piss on a lady. What does Vile get?”

 “I don’t know,” she said arrogantly.

 “Fine,” Sadril snapped. He hoped the prince would accept this woman’s soul. “But I’m not doing it.”

 “Well, of course no- wait, yes! Having a Dunmer do it would be hilarious!”

 “No,” Sadril growled. He looked down at Barbas. “You take this one for me.”

 “Fine, buddy,” Barbas said. “You gotta make your way back to Clavicus by yourself.”

 “Yeah, yeah,” Sadril began, waving his hand. “Have fun pissing on a woman.”

 “Highlight of my job,” Barbas muttered, and moved away, past the woman, who folded her arms.

 “You know,” she began, as the dog disappeared and a shining portal opened, “you’re handsome, for a Dunmer.”

 “You’re covered in piss,” Sadril pointed out. “You smell as rank as your personality.”

 And with that, he jumped back inside Vile’s realm.

 

* * *

 

 He’d handwaved Barbas’ warning away but now that he was alone in the grey mass, he was starting to get confused. He found himself wandering alone, with no sense of direction. There was nothing to signpost him, and he found himself tripping over mounds in the ground.

 “Clavicus!” he yelled. “Vile! Where are you?”

 His feet curved around a hole and he fell down. Or he would have. Something sticky caught his hand, and the light around him darkened, as he was held up by whatever was around his wrist. He twisted his head to look at it, and his mouth fell open.

 “DON’T YOU GO ANYWHERE, DRAGONBORN!” he heard Clavicus yell, but it was muted, like from behind a door, and a seductive chuckle filled the air as he tried to move. As his hand pulled back, he found it caught similarly, and he tugged, straining. When he went to pull his foot up, it was completely surrounded.

 By web.

 He was caught in a web.

 Oh, shit.

 “Mmmm,” a voice purred. “What…have we _here?_ ”

 He felt heat pooling in his groin, and he realised he was still naked from earlier, blood rushing down his body to between his legs.

 “Such a tasty treat, Dragonborn,” a mouth traced his ear and he shivered, “so… _virile_ , so strong…all mine to play with.”

The surroundings were dark now, and hot. Hot like Morrowind in summer. Sadril could almost feel it on his skin. But without the painful ashen breaths. A silken thread slid down in front of him, glowing softly, and down from it descended a woman, full-bodied, curvy and desirable, enough to get him hard and hurting in seconds. His world seemed to distort, and he found himself tilted at an angle as he looked at her. Her skin was grey as a Dunmer’s, but her face wasn’t quite as harsh, and she had long fangs pushing past her upper lip that she licked with a long, nubile tongue. Her eyes were Dunmer-red and glinting with lust. She smelt of sex and sweat, and her fingers were long and slender, tipped with black talons.

 “Welcome to the Spiral Skein, Dragonborn,” she chuckled. “I…am…Mephala.”


End file.
